


To Embrace The Midnight Black

by Mountainside_possum



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux Has Issues, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, More warnings on future chapters, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Suicidal Thoughts, during and post-tros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29090613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mountainside_possum/pseuds/Mountainside_possum
Summary: Instead of leaving behind an injuried Hux to the wrath of the First Order, Poe Dameron insists to take the injured war criminal with them. Hux is now presented a second chance, away from Kylo Ren and away from the First Order.
Relationships: Finn/Rose Tico, Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	To Embrace The Midnight Black

Desertion, that is what he had done. Granted, not by his own will. He’d begged FN-2187 to simply leave him behind after he’d crippled him. He’d dreamed of a dramatic, glorious ending. Perhaps he would march—-more likely limp—onto the bridge, where his loyal crew would join him against Pryde’s pathetic command. Yes, he’d had high hopes for how his end might come. It’d be a firefight, or some sort of glorious mutiny in which the crew took his side. Once again, he’d prove them all wrong. Just like with father, just like with Brooks. There’d be a moment of glorious revenge, of dramatic change and gifted control. Hux would be in control, he’d find order in the chaos. So would the crew, once under his command. Instead, he’d been dragged onto this rust bucket by his great coat. _Such indignity._

The pilot, who he’d heard the rest of the crew simply refer to as ‘ _Poe’_ had made him his own personal mission, as it seemed. It didn’t take long for Hux to realize it was him who’d dragged him on board, who’d taken away his glorious death in exchange for whatever purgatory these rebels were leading him to. He hadn’t given himself much room to think, instead curling up against a wall like an injured animal. By some cruel force-saken fate, the blaster wound had not instantly calderized on impact. Instead blood was soaking deeply into his starched uniform, making him feel uncomfortably wet. The pain in his leg was becoming a dull yet throbbing sensation, fully present in the background of his mind. 

“Hey, Hugs.” Poe had shifted himself so that he was beside Hux’s injured leg, down on his knees accessing the damage. His face spelled out worry, and slight fear. Clearly he was not as controlled in showing emotions as Hux. “You ok? That leg hasn’t stopped bleeding, can I take a look?” 

Scoffing, he attempted to retract away from Poe’s care. He’d rather bleed out here than see what the Resistance had in store for him. In their eyes, he was a prisoner. He knew exactly what the First Order did with prisoners, he could only assume the Resistance would follow the same path. “Rather die.” The words came out slurred, his head gently pressing back again the cold durasteel wall. 

“Well, that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t let me help.” Reaching out, the pilots hands pressed down on his thigh, with Poe seeming almost surprised that Hux wasn’t more than just a scrawny man decorated to look a more intimidating size. Hux knew Poe must be sizing him up, determining how easy he would be to fight. “I need to see the wound, can I do that?”

“Phf.” Hux replied with a less than approving sound, wincing as he attempted to press himself back against the wall and away from the man’s firm grip. “You are _not_ undressing me in any sort, you’ve taken enough of my dignity today.” 

“With how you’re snarling, you’d think we left you for dead.” Carefully, and within the boundaries Hux has established, Poe began to bandage around the outside of the man’s clothed leg. It wouldn’t fight infection, but it would stop the bleeding for now. 

“I wish you had.” Immediately, regret filled the void those words had left. Hux had no idea why he’d just given away a piece of emotion like that to this man, and blamed it on the blood loss. Closing himself off in order to prepare for whatever the pilot may say, Hux thought of his father. He thought of the many times that Brendol had threatened to snuff him out like a candle in the wind. Each and every one of those times he’d fought back, he’d pushed and writhed. _Worthless, worthless boy. Fighting for nothing._ His father’s voice spoke so often in his own mind, it might as well have been his own thoughts. 

Poe didn’t yell, instead his mouth hung slightly ajar. Hux wondered if only for a moment, he’d managed to say something that the rebel had never heard. Poe’s expression screamed out so many different emotions at once, it was similar to looking at a moving painting. “You...wanted to die?” 

Hux scoffed, relaxing involuntarily into the man’s hands. He blamed it on the blood loss, otherwise he was so sure he’d be fighting against him. He’d be fighting against those dark yet warm eyes which were staring at him as though he might drop dead. He could only find the strength to mutter. “Doesn’t everyone, Dameron?” 

There was a moment of heavy silence between them, Poe pulling his hands away from the wound. Instead, they moved to cup Hux’s gloved fingers so carefully. 

“What is this? What are you…?” The effort to pull together his composure was almost too much, Hux could barely pull together his signature snarl. The warmth of Poe’s hand sank through the artificial material of Hux’s gloves, warming straight to his heart. 

Poe didn’t answer in words, instead in one steady moment he pulled Hux into an embrace. One which enveloped him in warmth, pure safety and calm. The steady beating of Poe’s heart sounding more similar to the ticking of a clock in Hux’s ears. 

“You shouldn’t do this.” Hux knew what the Resistance thought of him. He was StarKiller. He was a murderer in their eyes. It was a part of why it was so key to keep his identity close to his chest once he’d turncoat. Stopping Poe from developing a friendship was key, it would keep the pilot from self destruction. “Get off me!” With a shove, Hux separated from the new found warmth and rediscovered the familiar cold. 

“Did I hurt you?” Poe was legitimately worried, Hux could tell that much. His face warped in sadness, concern, and overwhelming anxiety. _He wears his heart on his sleeve._

“Protect yourself, stay away from me.” Hux brushed off his great coat, which had been dirtied in the embrace. Now that the blood loss has ceased, his focus was returning. He was able to bend his knee once again, the pain no longer blinding. 

“Hugs, you aren’t in much of a place to threaten anyone.” With a chuckle, Dameron sat up against the wall next to Hux. He stayed an arms length away, aiming those hopeful brown eyes at the closed off ex-general. 

Carefully, and with a few pained winces, Hux pulled his knees up to a position where he could rest his arms on top. The position felt protective, keeping his vital organs guarded in case Dameron decided to attempt assassination. Those words settled on his shoulders like wet cloth, sinking and chilling him to the bone. Poe was correct, Hux was completely at the mercy of the Resistance. That was more terrifying than any of Snoke’s mind tortures, or Ren’s force beatings. These people had no honor, no limits.

“You look scared, I promise you’ll be treated fairly Hugs.” With a soft, careful, smile Dameron made himself comfortable in the spot next to Hux. He leaned his lower back against the hull, stretching his legs out before crossing them at the ankle. 

“Why are you talking to me?” The true question he wanted to ask was why Poe had helped him, why would he not allow him to die by the hands of the First Order once they discovered his true intentions? It made no sense. If it had been Hux, leaving a spy behind to be discovered after his worth was ended would be the only logical decision. Perhaps, Dameron wasn’t running on logic. Rather, something more primal and more dangerous. The inability to read the situation frustrated Hux beyond understanding. 

“You looked lonely, plus you _were_ bleeding out. Red looks better in your hair then it does your skin, Hugs.” A light chuckle left the man’s chest, his arms crossing over his torso making Hux flinch at the sudden movement. Despite his best efforts, Poe noticed. “You’re a jumpy little thing, huh?” 

“I am _not_ little.” A low growl entered Hux’s voice, his eyes narrowing and sharpening against the accusation. There was mockery in how casual Poe sat, the outstretched legs and casual hang of those toned arms against his chest. 

“Whoa, no insult meant.” Confusion crossed the man’s face, his chest tightening in a pose of tension. “Seriously, Hugs, what’s on your mind?” 

“Do you honestly expect me to tell you personal information as if we are comrades?” The venom left his lips easily, preconditioned statements weaved perfectly over years. Whenever officers attempted to gain his trust, the statements would repeat in his mind. Most of them were modified words of his father’s creation, his inspiration coming from what hurt the worst to his childhood self. 

“Nah, but I do expect you to be less of an asshole when we land.” Poe’s lips turned up at the ends in a small smirk, making him look incredibly smug. 

A soft sigh left Hux’s lungs, exhaustion making it too difficult to answer back in his usual thoughtful snark. Instead, his eyes threatened to flutter closed and his head slightly dipped against his own chest before being forcefully snapped up. 

“You look exhausted.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve worked through worse.” 

“No wonder you look like death.” 

Hux shot Poe a quizzical glance, unsure what the man truly meant. It seemed insulting, yet that glowing smile deafened the blow. Instead of feeling the usual chill of Ren’s insults or Snoke’s taunts, he felt a sense of warmth blooming in his chest. “I suppose my work has taken its own toll, yes.” 

A hand settled on Hux’s shoulder, making him straighten up and tense. “You saved us, Hugs. Thank you.” Poe had moved closer in that moment, their thighs almost touching. It was unclear if Poe meant him to get used to the touches, or if it was accidental. 

“I suppose I have.” _Will I regret it?_ Doubt hung in Hux’s mind like a thick fog, smothering any positivity that could have snuck its way deep in his subconscious. The hand stayed on his shoulder, warm and welcoming in a way that reminded him of a long past caretaker. 

Any warmth or love in Hux’s life had left long before that point, leaving him in a dark vacuum of repression and cold. No amount of stim, or alcohol, or sex could fill the void. Eventually, Hux had stopped trying. He’d let that void grow larger and larger till it filled every known corner of his personality. He could not remember what warmth felt like until Poe sat beside him. It split his heart in two, allowed for memories to trickle back into his mind like water over stones. His body ached for that warmth. Without realizing, Hux had lightly scooted into the star of a man who promised to thaw him out. 

Poe’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him into his side. “It’s ok, Hugs. I’ve gotcha, I’m not leaving.” 

That was enough, all that Hux needed to allow himself to rest. Pressing into the warmth that promised safety, Hux’s eyes became heavy. All he could think to do was mutter as the world got heavy and dark, and most importantly _warm._ “Thank you…” 

——-

“How is he?” Rey leaned in from the cockpit, looking in at the hallway. The site of general Hux, the man behind StarKiller base, leaning up against Poe’s side must’ve been odd for her. Poe watched as her eyes widened briefly before she smiled. “Looks comfortable.”

“Hey, I had to practically promise I wouldn’t kill him.” Poe didn’t glance back up at Rey, instead he looked back at the sleeping figure in his lap. In order to keep the man’s neck steady, Poe had carefully managed to settle Hux’s head against his thighs. 

“Really, Poe.” Her voice lowered into sincerity. 

“He’s scared, which makes sense. He thinks we’re going to kill him.” With a sigh, Poe carefully watched Hux’s breathing even out with rest. 

“That’s not all, is it? You’re really upset.” Rey’s ability with the force was a blessing in Poe’s eyes. He’d always had difficulty fully expressing his emotions so her just seeing them at times of high tension. 

“I think he’s suicidal...or something. He said that he wanted to die.” Poe had little experience with this, yes he’d seen people dealing with hopelessness and wartime trauma, but Leia had managed to keep morale high. 

Rey’s lips pressed strongly together with concern, nodding. “Leia sent us a comm, she wants us to bring him straight to the main base. She wants to talk to him. It’s...probably best if you get him out of that uniform before we get on base.”

“Good idea, thanks Rey.” He nodded, watching her slowly pull back into the cockpit and listening to the family _woosh_ as the mechanics in the door closed. For a moment, he just stared down at the sleeping man. The fact he was so relaxed as clearly a byproduct of blood loss, one that would wear off as soon as Hux got proper medical attention. Silently, Poe made a promise to keep Hux alive. Even if that meant protecting him from himself.   
  


——

Poe watched over the sleeping man, carefully observing as his chest rose and fell. There was a sense of familiarity, it was not the first time Poe had been placed on comforting duty. There were long lights where Rose would rush across base and drag him back to help Finn cope with the nightmares. In this case, however, it was purely untested waters. He knew Finn would understand that he was there to help, but with Hux that was unclear. 

With steady hands, Poe carefully shook the sleeping man. Immediately recoiling when Hux groaned and slightly shook his head.  _ Guess I’m just as jumpy as him _ . Rey had given him a task, to change Hux’s clothes so he wouldn’t immediately be a target on base, and it had to be done. Even if that meant dealing with a possibly feral and sleep deprived tooka-cat of a man. 

“Hey, Hugs. You gotta get up.” 

It was at this time he wished he had a first name for the resting man in his lap. Did Hux even have a first name, or was he like the millions of nameless stormtroopers who fought the rebellion with undying devotion? The thought alone sent a slight pain into Dameron’s heart. Just how nameless was Hux? 

That train of thought ended when Hux gently shifted and then sat up. His hair disheveled and his face covered in light pink lines from being squished against the fabric of Dameron’s flight suit. He seemed still unaware, or in a dazed state.

“Hey, buddy, I need you to let me help you. Ok?” 

Poe was soft about this, recognizing that Hux was in no condition to really fight him off. Carefully, he helped the man to his feet. When Hux couldn’t walk, he scooped him up into a bridal style hold. Much more dignified than when he’d dragged him by the back of his coat. With steady steps, Dameron moved into one of the living quarters on the  _ Falcon _ . The space inside the ship was much bigger than appearances would lead to believe. Setting the man down on one of the bunks, Poe carefully spoke. 

“I’m going to get you some different clothes and some bacta patches for your leg, ok? Just hang tight.” 

“Dameron…” 

Turning slightly, already halfway out the door, Poe looked back. Hux seemed so much smaller like this, injured, legitimately in need of help. When it became apparent that it was the fever from Hux’s injury talking, Poe moved out to quickly gather the supplies. 

He couldn’t have taken more than five minutes, gathering some old clothes of his and some medical supplies before returning back to where he had left Hux. Just as he had suspected, Hux hadn’t moved. His eyes half lidded and heavy. 

“Hey Hugs.” Kneeling down to be eye level with the injured man, Poe gently started to explain. “I want to help you, but I’m gonna need you to take off your pants ok? I need to see that thigh.” 

Hux’s eyes seemed to narrow in confusion, before slightly sharpening as he nodded. His shoulders gently rolled back so the great coat fell behind him on the bed, just a slight showing of trust—even if it was feverish in origin. 

“Ok…” 

“Thanks, Hugs.” 

Dameron had no idea why he  _ thanked  _ Hux. Perhaps for the fact the man hadn’t made this harder. Or given him more of a headache. With extremely careful hands, Poe reached out to help as Hux began to peel back those blood soaked pants. That earned him a slight slap on the wrist.

“Ok, ok. I’ve got it.” He backed off, aware that it was an overstepped boundary. Hux had established walls, and those walls were firm till their situation changed. 

Somehow, if it was possible, the skin on Hux’s legs was more pale than his face was. The blue veins flowing underneath like tiny rivers, weaving between unseeable rocks and valleys. In the middle of his thigh was a solid, circular, blaster hole. The skin around it bright red, and angry. It had swollen up, telling Poe that the early stages of infection had already begun. 

“Ok, I’m gonna put some bacta on it now.” 

Poe carefully ran his fingers over the warm flesh of Hux’s leg, feeling the muscle surrounding the wound before applying the gel to the sight itself and hearing Hux wince. He wrapped gauze around the thigh, keeping the gel in place so it could begin to heal. 

“There we go. Here, Uh...I know you might feel awkward pantless.” Setting down the clothes he’d gathered from his own collection, Dameron carefully picked up the great coat and blood soaked pants in order to hide them away. It felt like lying, which Poe hated, but Hux didn’t need these anymore. He never wanted to see him in a First Order uniform again. Just the thought felt like a personal offense. He tucked them under his own belongings, hiding them away like evidence of a murder. Once Hux had taken off his uniform shirt, he did the same with it. He could count seven separate knives, all of different lengths and builds that were placed in the fabric of the great coat alone. It shocked him that someone so high up in the First Order would need to worry about being backstabbed. Poe’s heart jumped at the sight of Hux’s slight build in something that actually framed him. He looked...small, pale, almost weak. Certainly not StarKiller. 

Across the room, he could hear Hux’s slight breathing. Hux was vulnerable, practically overcome with fever. It would be easy to simply smother him, claim he died of natural causes. The universe would be without one additional murderous maniac. Yet, Poe couldn’t bring himself to harm this man. Instead, he worried about Hux attempting escape. He focused on what could be done in the moment, so once Hux had found his way back into feverish rest, he used binders to clamp one wrist to the bedframe. 

“Hugs, don’t try anything stupid. Please.” 

Hux’s eyes seemed to dart underneath his eye lids, and told Poe he was already asleep and dreaming. With the words quietly whispered, Poe moved out the room and left the door to woosh closed behind him. 

——-

_ “Armitage.”  _

_ Warmth spread down his chest, resting on his hips then navigating up into his shoulders. The welcoming smell of vanilla and spice filling the kitchen space. His mothers hand reached down, comforting the young boy clinging to her leg as if that were the one permanent peace in his entire life. Directly in front of him, the reflective front of that all too familiar oven. The warmth it’d given off spread across his front, feeling too hot yet not enough all at once. That was back in the days when his skin was tinted with a light tan, hiding his veins.  _

_ “Armitage, you’re safe.”  _

_ This dream, this memory, had been a guide. Before important events, or fearful decisions, his mind would bring him back to this space. It would allow him to be little, if only for a moment. He could press himself into the soft fabric of her dress, breathing in the spices that had worked their way into the fabric and settled like a bird’s nest.  _

_ “Do I trust them, mother?”  _

_ The ability to guide dreams, manipulate them, was one Hux had always treasured. He could talk to those long dead, and see them again in their prime. The warmth wrapped itself deep in his bones, settling into his stiffened muscles and making them melt.  _

_ “You can decide that for yourself, trust your judgement, my sundrop.”  _

_ For a moment, all was calm. The sounds and smells of this fantastical memory settling deep within Hux. In his waking hours, he’d question if his mother ever escaped the grasps of his father, but in rest he existed in a world all to himself. He’d see who he wanted to see, and no one more. Though, the quiet would always end. A bell, built just above the doorway and labeled ‘study’ rang.  _

_ “Ah, looks like it’s time for me to go.”  _

_ The dreamy figure bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead before moving towards the doorway of the kitchen. Her heels clicked down the hallway, distantly fading. Along with her went the warmth, and the feeling of safety. No matter what, this dream always ended with Hux alone. No matter what he did, she’d always leave.  _

Awareness returned to him slowly, first a feeling of cushion against his side and then cold metal surrounding his wrist. Vaguely, he could feel soreness and remnants of pain in his leg, but nothing quite like when he remembered falling asleep. With slight hesitation, Hux opened his eyes. He was positioned on some sort of bunk, one wrist cuffed to the metal framing and the other tucked under a pillow. Distress filled his stomach, almost making him nauseous when he felt the lack of great coat around his shoulders or rough fabric around his arms. A quick examination showed him that someone,  _ someone with a death wish,  _ had dressed him in a light teal long sleeve shirt and a pair of gray worn slacks that didn’t quite reach his ankles. He thanked whatever forces had created the universe that the person kept his gloves on, letting him keep at least some form of his uniform. As though he would be completely lost without that guide marker of who he had been. 

The rumble of the ship’s engine told him that they were still in flight, far beyond the point of return. Normally, he’d look towards Phasma or Mikata for information around this situation. They’d be right here by his side, with Phasma ready to crack a joke when she thought no one was looking and Mikata ready to openly show the anxiety they all three felt. However, Phasma was just...gone. As far as Hux knew, she’d been killed by the traitorous stormtrooper. Somewhere, deep in his heart, he’d hoped she’d magically reappear with dented armor and charred hair. As for Mikata, who knew what punishment his crew back on the  _ Finalizer  _ would suffer for his decision. Guilt edged at his soul, tugging at him. It seemed like no matter what choice he made, people were harmed.  _ Thus is the way of leadership _ , he reminded himself. 

Across the room, the durasteel door slid open with a soft woosh. Briefly, Hux wondered if he should pretend to still be asleep in order to gauge what this person’s motivations were. Though, he knew it was far too late for that. He already knew the crew, at least he knew their information the First Order had collected. 

“Hey Hugs, how’s that leg feeling?” 

Dameron leaned into the room, seeming almost hesitant. Like he was dealing with some sort of feral tooka-cat who might just claw out his eyes if he took one wrong step. 

“Was it you who took my uniform, Dameron?”  _ This man has a death wish.  _ Hux glared daggers at him, maneuvering himself to sit awkwardly with his arm angled so it wouldn’t tug too tightly against the restraints. 

“Yea, sorry. You woke up briefly, I guess you don’t remember it.” 

“And the binder?” Hux’s eyes motioned towards the restraint on his arms, pointing them out to Poe. It seemed to make some sense that maybe it had been another member of the crew who didn’t trust him. 

“Oh, you were tossing a lot in your sleep. It’s, uh, all I could think of.” Dameron’s body language shifted uncomfortably, his hands jamming down into his pockets and his torso slightly swaying.

_ He’s lying.  _ “Well, get it off me. Then we can talk about where you put my uniform, you pervert.” His eyes tracked Poe, observing him as he carefully let the binder fall away from his wrist. 

“Oh, uh. Yeah, your uniform. It’s in the sonic. You got blood on it.” Poe moved, sitting on top of a trunk at the foot of the bunk directly across from Hux. 

_ Again, another lie. He would have quickly discovered the knives inside my great coat. If not for me telling him, they would absolutely tear apart inside of a standard clothing sonic. So he either spaced them, or they are still on board.  _ “No matter.” Hux lightly waved off those thoughts, instead focusing on attempting to get information. “You said I was awake?” 

“You were, briefly. Your leg was starting to get inflamed and possibly infected, so you woke up and we treated it.” Poe’s face slightly narrowed, seeming worried. 

“Hm. Well, it does not feel uncomfortable now. I assume you used bacta and some sort of sanitary treatment.” That was Hux’s first lie. His leg burned, he could still feel the infection attempting to fight the bacta, yet the possibility of showing weakness was just too much of a no-no. 

“That’s good!” Poe seemed legitimately excited, nodding quickly and giving Hux a smile. Silence hung over them both, making an awkward tension between them both. “Do you have a name?” 

“Excuse me?” Hux recoiled slightly at the question,  _ what kind of question is that?  _ He felt his nose slightly scrunch up, like it did whenever Ren threw a tantrum. 

“Do you have a name? Like, a real name, not a title or whatever.” Poe’s face seemed hopeful, curious even.

“Armitage. Though, no one has used it in years. I do not exactly answer to it.” Hux crossed his arms over his chest, and watched Poe with narrowing eyes. Only Phasma called him that name, when he needed to come down from a particularly bad force torture session with Snoke or when he got insulted deeply by Ren. His first name was a mark of shame, one of the main pieces of evidence that convinced him his father still maintained control over some aspects of his life. 

“Sounds fancy.” Poe chuckled, gathering himself to his feet before making his way over to Hux. His arm extended. “Well, Armitage. I look forward to workin’ with you.” 

In a way, this felt like a ceasefire. When Hux extended his arm back, and shook the man’s hand, they would be equals. He did exactly that. For a moment, they mutually exchanged a peaceful breath. 

**Author's Note:**

> Stay Safe, Stay Healthy, And May The Force Be With You! 
> 
> I know this isn’t my usual Kalluzeb content, but I am really excited to start this. I have a lot of ideas. Don’t worry, all of my other projects will be continuing! 
> 
> Follow me!  
> Twitter: @imperialsimp  
> Tumblr: mountainsidepossum


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